The thoughts and memoirs of an insane doctor
by Black.bloodied.rose
Summary: I suppose everyone gets afraid at one time or another. And nothing helps fend off fear like talking to someone that cares. People have to learn the hard way I guess. R&R


**A/N: **Here's to all insomniacs. When I can't sleep I tend to write in my head. It's been a habit of mine since... forever. As long as I can remember. Anyway, this is what just happened to make itself available to me last night. Please enjoy and if you read this could you please comment? I'd really appreciate it as I'm trying out a completely different writing style then I usually use.

**Cheers B~B~R **

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><p><strong>The thoughts and memoirs of an insane doctor <strong>

It was another one of those nights.

A type of night that was becoming all too familiar to Jezebel of late: it was a sleepless one. And really for no reason at all. It was only the ghosts dancing at the edges of his vision and the sudden sharp prickle of pain that spread up his spine that kept him awake. I suppose to most it would be called fear. But it wasn't as though he was afraid of the dark; it was, after all, what the world he lived in revolved around, nor the sudden screams that echoed through Lord Gladstone's manor so late at night. No, he heard desperate screams very often. But then again here he was, huddled against the headboard with his head against his knees and his eyes wide open.

The evidence of this disturbance in his sleeping patterns weren't so obvious during the day. No bags under his eyes or a slowing to his step. But his bottom lip was chewed until it bled and he blinked far too many times for someone who had slept fitfully in the past three nights. It was only Cassian that noticed after all and after a glair that could have killed from his superior the trump stayed silent.

The doctor blamed the blinking on his glasses, which had never caused him any trouble before, and his lip on the dry weather. Gladstone didn't care. As long as Death stayed in his home as his ordered pet he didn't seem to have a care in the world. But his subordinate was in fact worried. He knew Jizabel better than the doctor probably knew himself. He knew he was the gentle type, the type that would have preferred to be a normal doctor. Not one that killed as easily as he healed. He was more suited to the country life; in a small house with someone that would make sure he ate well and got to bed at a reasonable hour. He'd dote upon children, and give then sweets if they were good at their appointments and they'd all have different versions of his name which they'd call him. He'd keep animals as well, cats and dogs alike. It was such a fragile fantasy that anyone who knew him would understand it would never happen.

It began to rain on the fourth evening, the steady churn of drops on the roof and windows made the doctor jump a few times at both the dinner table and on the way to his room. Cassian was witness to it four times; he turning as though he'd heard someone following him. The trump asked if he was alright and the reply was a very soft affirmative that was not at all convincing. There now was a definite darkness under his eyes that had appeared that afternoon after he and the Head Priest had had a meeting about something or other. The knife thrower was certain it could have been about nothing pleasant.

He followed the doctor all the way to his bedroom door. Finally, when asked why he was being followed, Cassian replied that he wanted to talk. And talk they did. At first it was about nothing in particular, just the weather. How it was nice that it was raining after a long while of drought and about far off places they wanted to go. It was a bit awkward at first; neither was used to idle chitchat nor actually appreciating the others company. But soon they were comfortable, both seated before the bedroom fire. Neither dared look at the other as the topics became deeper, more personal. No longer was the talk about the rain or faraway places but edging towards who you wanted to be and why you couldn't sleep at night, about fantasies and dreams of where you wanted to end up when everything was said and done. And later that night if you had peered in the doctor's bedroom door you would have seen both the doctor and his trump. Cassian splayed out starfish style across the bed with his mouth open in a silent snore. And the doctor no longer huddled by the headboard but beside his friend in a small ball. Finally asleep.

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><p>Short and sweet, I don't write like this often. I really love Earl Cain: Godchild, I cosplay said mad doctor and I've been dying to write a story with them in it.<p>

As I said before: **PLEASE COMMENT**! Really, I beg you.

Thank you for reading

**B~B~R**


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